Stavanger Bay the mumbling of citadels

There were smaller things here. Lessers. The chattering of many voices lived beneath the surface and she, hearing these many dialects which were so very different to her, did not know if exploring would be beneficial. Perhaps they were her own kind? Residents of these dark waters calling to one another between great reaching points; or perhaps they were indeed the smaller, plumper, lazier porpoise. Granddaughter did not want to leave the coast yet. She could have sought out the origin of these strange songs, but instead she drifted within the veins of Mother Sea, and when she surfaced for another breath, she was caught by something curious and new.

It was not a lethargic beast sunning itself, as she was used to. It was not a seal, young or otherwise, which her people had learned to farm from the Big Cold; there were no sheets of glass here to protect those of the land. No, but it was small, and bright, and led her eye and her attention away from thoughts of the ocean's bounty, for a time. She could not get too close lest she be stuck — for her youth, Granddaughter was very smart — but she did delve closer. Perhaps she could lure this tiny thing off of the land instead?